


A Buttercup Bouquet

by rowdyruffbutch



Series: PPG Oneshots [9]
Category: Powerpuff Girls
Genre: F/M, I think buttercup's sisters are in it too, and boomer's brothers, but I can't remember because I haven't looked at this in a really long time, like years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-01 22:16:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16292801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowdyruffbutch/pseuds/rowdyruffbutch
Summary: February 12thShe walked into class, expecting the twelve flowers on her desk, and was surprised to see that there was none. Clara could see the confusion on her face."Don't worry," She said, "Maybe they're late? It's happened before.""I'm not worried." Buttercup sat in her seat wondering if what she told Clara was the truth. There was a strange feeling in her stomach that made her question it.They're just dumb flowers, She thought.Just dumb flowers.





	A Buttercup Bouquet

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my favorite things out of everything I've ever written! Please like it...

A/N: Hey guys! I know Valentine's Day was yesterday but I've had this saved in my email since last year and I just wanted to share it now! If the ending sounds familiar it's because it's basically the same as one of the chapters in the Christmas fic I wrote about BC and Butch. I actually wrote this before I wrote that one but decided just to share the Christmas one. So yeah...

Also!! For those of you who read 'Does Hell Taste As Sweet As You Thought' I know I haven't updated in FOREVER but I will! I'm going to be rereading it so I can remember it all and start chapter seven really soon! Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about it! Thank you all so much for your patience!

Last thing: This is a Boomer x Buttercup fic. If you don't like when the ships are mixed up like this feel free to not read this

Enjoy this story!

———

_February 1st_

Buttercup walked into class to greet the— once plain, clean, light brown— wood grain desk engraved with numerous names and pencil drawings. She had even carved her name onto it earlier in the year. She was expecting the usual stack of graded papers on her desk but what she saw instead— a yellow flower and a small red envelope— surprised her. She looked around at the other students. No one else had a flower or envelope. This flower was meant for someone else— clearly— because people didn't give her flowers.

"Pretty flower, Buttercup. Who's it from?" Clara asked, taking a seat behind her.

"I don't think it was for me. They probably meant to give it to someone else and thought my desk was theirs," Buttercup replied.

"Hmm," Clara hummed and shook her head. "I don't think so."

"Why?"

"That flower is called a Buttercup." Clara informed her.

"It is?" Buttercup furrowed her brows.

"Mhm. What's in the envelope?"

Buttercup shrugged. "No idea. I haven't opened it."

"Well maybe you should," Clara suggested.

Buttercup turned around and looked at the red envelope. 'From: Your secret admirer' was written on the front of it. She peeled off the tape holding the flap down and took out the little card inside. It read: A Buttercup for a Buttercup

_February 4th_

"Please don't let there be more flowers. Please don't let there be more flowers," Buttercup repeated to herself.

She closed her eyes as she reached the door. Buttercup had gotten two flowers the day after the first and three yesterday. She feared the number of flowers would keep increasing and hoped that her secret admirer had stopped. So, she repeated her mantra of hope one more time and opened her eyes to find... nothing. There was nothing on her desk. Buttercup relaxed and plopped down into her chair with a sigh.

"No flowers today?" Clara questioned.

"No." Buttercup grinned. "Thank, God!"

Clara laughed, although, she didn't understand why Buttercup didn't enjoy getting the flowers and love notes. She didn't bother to ask her about it because Buttercup would never tell her. Buttercup slouched in her chair— content with not having to go through the embarrassment of holding flowers in the halls— but she got the feeling her relief had ended when someone knocked on the door halfway through class.

Buttercup groaned at the sight of those stupid yellow flowers and let her head fall onto her desk as the man spoke, "Delivery for Buttercup Utonium."

_February 8th_

Buttercup had gotten used to seeing the flowers on her desk. Today it was eight. Yesterday it was seven, the day before it was six, and before that it was five. They were always Buttercups and they were always yellow. She occasionally got another red envelope with some cheesy poem on the inside. Buttercup didn't care much for them but Bubbles was keeping them in a small box for her. Blossom took all of the flowers and kept them in vases. Buttercup wondered if she would ever get more bouquets than Blossom had vases or too many letters for Bubbles to keep.

"Don't you like getting these things, sweetie?" The Professor wondered. "This secret admirer seems to like you very much."

"No, Professor, I hate it. It's embarressing. All my friends tease me and it's annoying! I wish they would just stop," Buttercup huffed.

She hated the looks people gave her. She hated getting made fun of and having her friends thinking she was getting soft. As if she was becoming more like Bubbles. Not that there was anything wrong with being soft (or like Bubbles) but she wasn't soft! She wanted people to think— to know— she was tough! The only reason people were saying otherwise was because of her secret admirer. Only sweet girly-girls get flowers and they thought being a sweet girly-girl was the same as being weak but she is not weak! Bubbles is not weak but she was sensitive. They were not the same thing.

"We are more than flimsy, weak flowers," She muttered under her breath.

_February 12th_

She walked into class, expecting the twelve flowers on her desk, and was surprised to see that there was none. Clara could see the confusion on her face.

"Don't worry," She said, "Maybe they're late? It's happened before."

"I'm not worried." Buttercup sat in her seat wondering if what she told Clara was the truth. There was a strange feeling in her stomach that made her question it.

 _They're just dumb flowers_ , She thought. _Just dumb flowers._

First period ended and no one came to drop off the bouquet. Then second period, third period, fourth, fifth, and sixth all went by. Had her admirer finally stopped or had they forgotten? Buttercup frowned. It kind of hurt to think that someone who seemed to like her so much yesterday could forget about her today.

"Yo, Buttercup!" Someone shouted. "There's something on your desk!"

She tried not to look too eager as she hurried towards the door. She looked ove at her assigned seat. There they were the twelve yellow flowers. She reached for them and opened the envelope they came with:

Sorry for having these delivered so late. I was thinking of a way to ask you out on a date. Robin is having a party tomorrow and she invited me. On her balcony is where I'll be. Meet me there at 9 o'clock and we can finally talk.

_February 13th_

"It's 9:05, sweetheart. Shouldn't you be going?" The Professor wondered.

"I don't wanna seem too anxious, Professor."

He sat beside her. "It's okay to be nervous, Buttercup."

She looked up at him. "It is?"

"Of course," The Professor reassured her.

Buttercup nodded. "Thank you, dad."

He stood and kissed the top of her head. "You're welcome."

It was 9:15 when she entered the party. People's eyes shifted towards her; as if they knew what was going to happen and maybe they did. Buttercup didn't care. She walked through Robin's house and spotted a familiar yellow flower on the coffee table. She picked it up and looked around for more. Buttercup picked up every one she found as she made her way towards Robin's terrace. When she reached it she counted the number of Buttercups in her bouquet.

"Twelve?" She counted again. "There's only twelve. I must've missed one."

"No you didn't." Someone stepped out of the shadows with another flower in their hand.

"You," Buttercup said through her teeth. There was a green light before he saw her in front of him and the flowers on the ground behind her. She reached for his collar and balled her hands around it. "You did this!"

His lips curled. "So what if I did? What are you gonna do about it, flower petal?"

She glanced at his lips. He shut his eyes, expecting a kiss from her lips but got a kiss from her fist instead. He flew back, off the balcony, and onto the patio furniture. She heard him chuckling from the broken table.

"That's for calling me a flower." She glowered. He remained sprawled across the rubble as she floated over to him.

He kept his eyes closed while he talked, "Did you know Buttercups are poisonous?"

"Are they?" She raised an eyebrow.

"If they're eaten. So, Buttercups aren't weak. They're underestimated because of how small and delicate they seem."

"Are you saying I'm small and delicate? That's not a smart thing to say, Boomer."

"You're underestimated. Villains— even superheroes— have thought less of you because of what you look like— because you're a girl. You look frail to them."

"You're saying I look fragile?" Buttercup's fists began to glow.

His eyes flickered open and landed on her. "I'm saying you're poisonous, Buttercup. You're poison in a pretty bottle and I want to drink you."

She gripped the fabric of his shirt and pulled him up. She didn't wait for him to regain his balance before yanking his head down to close the gap between them. She kissed him and, for a moment, she thought he would push her away but he didn't. He pulled her closer and kissed her back. She shoved him away once her stomach began to feel like it was doing flips.

"That was for everything else," Her voice was soft and quiet, nothing like her usual tone of annoyance.

He smiled at her and pulled out a black cord bracelet with a yellow flower charm on it. Boomer offered it to her. "Number fourteen."

"You're expecting me to wear that?" She narrowed her eyes at it.

He began to pull it back. "Well if you don't want it I can return—"

"I want it!" Buttercup interrupted and took it from him. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Boomer smiled and took her hand to lead her back into the house. "Happy Valentine's Day, Buttercup."


End file.
